


Finding Home In Each Other

by thepottermalfoyproblem



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, F/M, Kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7295851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepottermalfoyproblem/pseuds/thepottermalfoyproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric and Hawke meet as children instead of adults, growing up alongside each other in the busy city of Kirkwall. Many things change with the passing of years, but their friendship remains as strong as ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting - 9:12 Dragon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeoplePeel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/gifts).



> **Prompt:** Role Reversal AU: Gamlen isn't entirely bad and writes to Leandra; a story wherein the Hawkes come back to Kirkwall years earlier and grow up in Hightown under the Amell family banner and protection.
> 
> AN:  
> I hope you enjoy this story! I know its not what you entirely meant by role reversal and I feel really bad about that, but by the time I realized I was writing it wrong I was 5k words in. T.T So I owe you another short story about Varric and Hawke.
> 
> As always, I own nothing.  
> Hightown Funk 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every story begins with a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke - 5  
> Varric - 11

The first memory Varric Tethras has of Marian Hawke is that of a small dark blur barreling in from his left and nearly knocking him over as it careened deeper into the marketplace. As he regained his footing and bit back the startled curse that would earn him a reprimand from Bartrand, Varric glanced over at his older brother. Five insults deep into a pissing contest with an increasingly harried-looking elf, Bartrand barely noticed when his young charge shrugged and charged off into the crowd.

Following the trail of unbalanced Kirkwallers wasn't too difficult and pretty soon Varric had eyes on a small figure darting in and out of the crowd, hanging onto the collar of an obnoxiously large dog and shrieking with laughter. He picked up his pace and soon jogged alongside the Mabari and her companion. The Mabari, to her credit, skidded to a halt and snuffled warily at Varric, who held up his hands in a placating gesture. He'd never had personal interaction with one of the fearsome Ferelden wardogs, but he knew enough to let her examine him before trying to talk to the kid peeking from around her flank.

After thoroughly examining Varric, the Mabari sat down with a satisfied huff and nudged her charge towards him. She was a small, kind of scrawny thing, with short-cropped black hair and a truly impressive fur mantle for a child her size. Between fur and the Mabari, she was most certainly Ferelden. The kid looked Varric up and down, then stuck out her hand enthusiastically.

"Hi! I'm Hawke. Rabbit likes you, so I like you too." She had a slight lisp, the one children have when they are still very young, and she spoke her words carefully, eyebrows scrunched together as she pieced together her sentences.

Varric raised an eyebrow, but reached out to shake her hand. "Varric. What kind of names are Hawke and Rabbit?"

Hawke looked unphased by the abrupt question, and scratched the Mabari behind the ear as she answered. "Well, she twitches like a rabbit. Watch her nose." She gazed solemnly at the dog, and Varric swore he saw the Mabari roll her eyes before obligingly wiggling her nose. It did look kind of rabbit-like.

"I see," drawled Varric. "And do you have some wings that give you your name?"

Hawke giggled, "No, my papa's Hawke. I wanna be just like him! Mama calls me Marian, but I don't like it."

At the mention of parents, Varric glanced around the market, but he didn't see anyone that remotely looked like they could be the parents of a pale, raven-haired kid. "Uh, about that, aren't you a little young to be wandering the markets alone? Kirkwall's not exactly the safest city..."

"I'm Five!" Hawke announced, frowning. "I'm not alone, I've got Rabbit!" She looked perplexed for a moment, and then her bottom lip quivered. "But we might be lost." She said in a quiet voice, sniffing a bit. Rabbit head-butted her gently with a soft whine.

"Hey," Varric knelt down in front of Hawke, "This is my city, I know every nook and cranny! Where do you need to go? I might be able to get you there."

Hawke rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand and scrunched up her face in thought, "Mama said something about an 'apple state' on the boat over. They were gonna meet Uncle Gamlen."

Varric tried very hard not to stare. "You... just got off the boat."

The girl nods, "I saw a shiny coin on the dock. I went to get it, Rabbit followed me, and then... I turned around and nobody was there. So I went exploring. And now I dunno where I am." She sniffed again and, oh, Varric hopes she won't start crying because he doesn't know what to do with a crying girl. Maker's breath, he barely knows what to do when Bianca starts crying and she's his own age.

He carefully set a hand on Hawke's shoulder, "Come on, let’s go to the docks and see if anyone knows about this 'apple state'. I can show you some of my favorite places in the city on the way."

And just like that the kid is smiling again, beaming really. She latched onto his arm as he stood and started pulling him towards the docks. Comfortable in her newfound friend, Hawke babbled at a rapid pace, barely breathing between questions. Rabbit followed along a couple paces behind them, and Varric was almost certain the Mabari was laughing at them. Sometimes the three of them stopped and Varric pointed out a local landmark, telling the kid a story attached to the location. She listened wide-eyed to his tales, always full of questions when he was done. He laughed and answered all he could, the rhythm of storytelling accompanying them through the streets of the city until they finally reached the docks.

Angry shouts echoed across the wood and water as they stepped out into the more open area. At the end of the farthest dock a tall, fur-clad man towered over a Rivaini sailor, who was rubbing at his temples with one hand and making a calming gesture with the other. Varric had but a moment to take in the scene before Hawke had released his arm and bolted out across the docks, screaming at the top of her voice. Rabbit gently nudged Varric in the shoulder before bounding after her charge, running excitedly around the tall man, who by now had scooped up Hawke and was hugging her tightly.

Varric grinned, the man must be the kid's father. They shared the same raven hair and taste in furs, though Varric would eat a whole sheaf of parchment if the man wasn't a mage, based on the heavy staff strapped across his broad shoulders. Not the wisest move in Kirkwall, but judging by the way he was still walking free he probably had friends in high places. Satisfied that Hawke was safe Varric turned to leave, but stopped when he heard Hawke's voice calling out his name. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Hawke tugging her father towards him, a wide grin on her face.

"We found Papa, Varric!" she called, face scrunched as she concentrated on saying his name right.

"I can see that, Hawke." Varric called back, laughing a little at the sight of such a tiny child dragging a full-grown adult across the docks. The two stop in front of him and her father peers down, a gentle smile on his face. 

"Thank you for finding my daughter, Varric. She loves exploring, but this city is new. Her mother and I weren't sure where to start looking."

"We were gonna find you at the 'apple states', Papa!" chirped Hawke, still clinging to his arm.

Her father snorted with laughter, ruffling her hair with his free hand. "Is that what you thought your mother and I said, little bird?"

Hawke nodded solemnly, and her father shook his head with a fond smile. He looked back at Varric and said, "My wife is the eldest child of the Amell family. We were talking of meeting her brother at the family estates and Hawke here must have misheard us."

In hindsight, that made a lot of sense, thought Varric and suddenly he was seized with an idea. "I live near there," he said. "If you need someone to keep Hawke out of trouble, I'd be willing."

The elder Hawke looked considering for a moment. "I'm fairly certain she's more likely to get you into trouble, but you're welcome to come by the estates any time you want."

Varric grinned at Hawke, who launched herself at him with a tight hug and started rattling off all the places she wanted to explore in the city.

And that is how Varric earned himself a raven-haired barnacle as a friend.


	2. Escape from Duty - 9:17 Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the wild eldest child of a noble family has some unforeseen downsides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke - 10  
> Varric - 16
> 
> Aside from Hawke now living in Kirkwall, I am using the canon timeline for Varric's works. At this point in time he was working on his first book, _The Dasher's Men_.

A loud pounding on the stairs was the only warning Varric had before a familiar dark blur burst through his door, slamming it shut behind her and breathing heavily in the stillness. Varric barely looked up from his desk, where he scowled down at a rumpled sheet of parchment and tapped his pen irritably against his creased forehead. He mumbled a greeting and scratched a few words onto the sheet before pausing again.

A hand waving in front of his face interrupted his brooding and he looked up to find Hawke grinning at him. "Bartrand said you'd be up here, but when he said you were moping I thought he was exaggerating."

"I'm not moping, I'm writing. There's a difference, Hawke." Varric frowned at her and turned back to his parchment.

Hawke snorted, "Right, and I'm the Viscount."

When Varric ignored her, pen once again scratching softly across the parchment, she rolled her eyes dramatically and hauled herself up onto his desk, short legs pumping the air for a moment before she manages to squirm onto the surface and roll upright. They are silent together for a while, Varric concentrating on his writing and Hawke idly swinging her legs off the side of the desk, watching as the buckles on her boots caught the light from the windows and reflected it onto the walls.

After a while though she grew bored and turned back to her friend, who was once again staring down at his parchment with enough force that it was a miracle it didn't catch fire.

"Come on, Varric, you've been cooped up inside all day. Let’s go down to the markets and see if Korval has any new knives in." Hawke bounced a bit where she was sitting and the lamp on the desk flickered with her movement.

"I can't. I promised my editor a first draft in a fortnight and I'm stuck on the climactic betrayal scene." Varric chewed his lip nervously, slowly writing another couple words down before making a frustrated noise and crossing through the entire sentence. "If I don't get this in on time I can't get published."

Hawke stared at him, eyes narrowing. "I can't believe I'm saying this right now, but I'm about to quote my stupid governess.’ Sometimes all you need to spark an idea is some fresh air and a new perspective'." When Varric raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged. "Course... that was after the third time she and Grandmama tried to force me into some awful frilly dress, but hey, it’s a good saying."

Varric leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "You're right," he said, dropping his pen onto the table with the dull thunk of metal hitting wood. "Maybe I'll see something in the markets that will help. And... I think I owe you a birthday present."

Hawke laughed, "You do! I can't believe you forgot."

"Writing does that," said Varric, knowing that Hawke didn't truly blame him for all the things he forgot when he got sucked into his writing. But she was right, he did need to take a break.

Standing up, Varric stretched his arms over his head and winced when his back popped loudly. Hawke snickered and jumped off the desk with a cat-like grace. Tall and lanky for her age, she stood nearly Varric's height, and at sixteen he was unlikely to grow any taller. She'd most likely be at least a head taller than him by adulthood. Though, for now, she was the perfect height for teasing. Grinning, he swung an arm around her shoulders and ruffled her hair with his free hand. She squawked in mock protest and slid out of his grip, combing her fingers through her hair and sticking out her tongue.

Varric shrugged at her and strolled towards the door, knowing she'd follow him eventually. He was halfway down the stairs in the main hall when he heard a delighted whoop behind him. He turned just in time to see Hawke streak past him on the banister, laughing the whole way. She landed on her feet at the bottom of the stairs, because she always did. Varric swore she must be part cat sometimes.

"Does your governess know you're still sliding down banisters and terrorizing the general public?" he asked with a laugh, holding the door open for Hawke as they made their way out into Kirkwall's busy streets.

Hawke made a face. "She wouldn't know fun if it bit her on the ass."

"Hawke..." The word is drawn out and more of a question than her name. "Does your governess even know you're here? Does anyone know?"

Hawke was silent a beat too long, then dashed off towards Korval's stand. "Look, Varric! He does have some new knives!"

Varric sighed. "Hawke, that wasn't the answer to my question."

"Fine. Papa knows. He helped me sneak away." She reached for a bone-handled knife near the edge of the counter and Korval pulled it out of her reach with a scandalized look.

"Young lady," he said sternly. "What have I told you about touching the merchandise?"

Hawke answered through gritted teeth. "I'm not supposed to touch them because I'm too little and I might hurt myself."

Varric raised an eyebrow. That was certainly new information. Normally Korval let her look at any knife she wanted, as long as someone was around to watch her. He glanced quizzically at his friend and she mouthed "governess" at him before wrinkling her nose in disgust.

 _Well, that was just unacceptable,_ thought Varric. He'd known her governess had been getting stricter but this was ridiculous. His confusion must have shown on his face, because Hawke's shoulders slumped and she kicked at the ground, mumbling something under her breath.

"What was that, Hawke?"

"I said, she doesn't want me to be myself anymore."

Varric blinked slowly. "She what," he said in a flat voice.

"I told you papa snuck me out, right?" she looked at him, and fury boiled in her eyes. "According to my governess, I'm ten now so I have to become a 'proper lady'. Somehow that means I have to wear stuffy dresses and grow out my hair and stop playing with weapons and stop doing anything at all fun. Papa found out and I think he got me out of the estate so I wouldn't have to listen to him yell at my grandparents and governess." She sniffed and the fury drained out of her as quickly as it had appeared. "Grandpapa and Grandmama already kicked him out before. I heard him and mama talking about it once, what if they kick us all out because of me?"

"Oh, Hawke." Varric pulled her into a rough hug, holding her tight against his chest. "Your grandparents love you. They wouldn't kick you out just because you don't want to do what your governess tells you."

"You sure?" asks Hawke, voice muffled against Varric's jacket.

"Hawke. You remember that time you painted yourself red and pretended to be a rage demon? And your grandfather laughed so hard he almost fell down the front steps?"

Hawke giggled, "Didn't you help me with that?"

"I did, but that's not the point, kid."

Hawke took a couple deep breaths, calming down. She straightened her shoulders, and met Varric's eyes with a gaze that would become steel in future years. But for now it was a steady and determined look. "Alright, they won't kick us out."

"You've got that right." Varric ruffled her hair, and for once Hawke didn't stop him. "Now, don't you need to pick out a present?"

 _One thing was sure,_ thought Varric five minutes later as he watched Hawke spin her new knives with a near-disturbing practiced ease. _When she grew older Hawke would become a force to be reckoned with._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Outline notes of note:  
> "Varric is working hard on his first book, but readily welcomes the distraction/company of a small excitable child. Maybe not so much a child with knives though. That’s going to be a problem when she gets older."


	3. Seething Ball of Spitfire Rage - 9:25 Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes understanding comes in the form of being bodily tackled to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke - 18  
> Varric - 24

"Look, all I'm saying is that she's starting to scare me." The kid leaning in Varric's doorway interrupted his writing and he decided he really needed to find a new place. Living with his brother had benefits, but the constant stream of people knowing where he spent his time was starting to become a problem. Though, based on whose sibling had just invaded his study, that probably wouldn't fix anything. He scrubbed his hand across his face and realized Hawke's younger brother was staring at him expectantly.

Varric sighed. "Kid, I think I missed all but that last bit. Come again?"

Carver, all of thirteen with an attitude to match, rolled his eyes and huffed out an annoyed breath. "Hawke stormed out into the training yard after lunch and hasn't come back inside yet. She won't even talk to father about whatever is pissing her off. And quite frankly, she's a little terrifying. So if you could come talk her down, that would be great."

"She won't even talk to Malcolm? That's new." Varric raised an eyebrow at Carver, who shrugged.

"Completely ignored him, just kept beating on that old sandbag in the corner."

Varric swore. If Hawke had dispensed with her knives and gone straight to punching things, there was a definite problem.

"Lead the way," he said to Carver, pushing back his chair and dousing his table lamp. He paused on the way out the door only to grab his jacket and crossbow, slinging the latter over his back where he could get at it quickly. He rarely went without it these days, with all the meetings he frequented in Lowtown. Even Hightown was starting to get dangerous of late, the Carta becoming more prominent with every passing year.

However, golden daylight still lit the streets, so Varric and Carver reached the Amell Estate without issue. Carver's twin met them at the back gate, a worried look on her face.

"Oh, good, you found him. Hawke said last week he's taken to wandering Lowtown and I wasn't sure where he'd be then."

"Wandering Lowtown?" drawled Varric, smiling at Bethany. "Your sister didn't tell you I'm a vile tavern ne'er-do-well?"

Bethany giggled and darted forward to give Varric a hug. "I'm glad you came, I've been keeping an eye on Marian so Carver could get you."

Varric ruffled her curls, "Thank you, Sunshine. How's she doing?"

Bethany pulled away from him, meeting his gaze nervously. "Well..." she chewed her lip for a second, then sighed. "I've had to heal her hands twice and she hasn't even noticed.

Carver's eyes widened and he peered through the gate at his older sister, still whaling on a dirty sandbag in the back of the yard. "Maker's breath, Bee. She tell you what happened yet?"

Bethany shook her head and Varric sighed heavily. "Alright, lemme go talk to her. At the very least I'll goad her until she yells at me. Why don't you two go on inside and tell your parents to stop hovering by the windows?"

"How did you..." Carver starts, but Varric interrupted him.

"Comes with the territory, Junior." He started into the training yard, ignoring the twins' whispered conversation behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the curtains flutter in an upstairs window, Malcom's worried face peering out. Varric nodded at Hawke's father and his face relaxed. He mouthed "good luck" at Varric before disappearing from the window, and Varric suppressed a wince. Hawke idolized her father and if even he was avoiding his daughter, there was definitely trouble.

Sure enough, as Varric approached Hawke she paused long enough in her methodical movements to hiss "Go away, Varric" from between clenched teeth.

Varric crossed his arms. "You know, I thought your siblings were exaggerating when they said you were being terrifying, but if this is how you greet your oldest friend I am a little offended for their sakes. Care to tell me what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Hawke growled, delivering another couple punches to the bag before rounding off with a savage kick that left the bag swinging wildly.

Varric winced as he caught sight of Hawke's wrapped hands, blood soaking through the wrappings. "Well if you don't want to talk about it at least take a break for the sake of your hands. Sunshine said she's healed them twice already, and that's two times too many."

"Shit." Hawke looked down at her hands, just then noticing the damage. "Hold on, let me fix this and then we can spar."

"That's not what I meant by 'take a break', Hawke." Varric protested as she dropped down on a nearby bench and started unwrapping her hands. When she stopped, wincing with the movement, he settled down beside her, taking her hand and gently unwinding the linen wraps. "This isn't like you. You aren't even talking to your father, and he's normally the first person you turn to."

"Second person," said Hawke quietly, and when Varric raises an eyebrow at her, she elaborates. "I normally talk to you first."

"I'm flattered, but you seem to be avoiding talking today, so this is a moot point."

Resting her chin in her free hand, she stared off into the yard for a moment before sighing heavily and scuffing her boot on the ground.

"There was... I had..." she made a frustrated noise and paused again before blurting everything in a rush that took Varric a moment to comprehend. "I was presented to a prospective suitor at lunch today and nobody warned me because they knew I'd find some excuse to run off instead."

Varric dropped the unwrapped hand he was holding and motioned for her to give him the other one. "So is that why you're out here beating the poor defenseless sand bag?"

"No, lunch was fine. The suitor even seemed nice, seemed genuinely interested in me. Unlike the last one who kept hinting about dowry money..." Hawke stopped talking and Varric can hear her grinding her teeth. He finishes unwrapping her hand and she snatches it back, ignoring his protests as she cracked her knuckles. "It was what he said after that made me so angry," she said, standing abruptly and pulling a vial out of her pocket. Varric shook his head in amusement as she uncorked it with her teeth and downed the contents, her body shuddering a bit as the elfroot took effect. She made a face and tossed the empty vial down on the bench.

"When are you going to learn that you hate the taste of elfroot?" Varric said.

"When it stops working," said Hawke, offering him a hand up off the bench. He took it and she hauled him to his feet before tossing a pair of wooden practice daggers in his direction. He caught them with one hand and raised an eyebrow at her. "Look, if I'm going to talk about this I need to be hitting something. Obviously the sandbag is no longer an option." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder and Varric noted, with little surprise, that the bag had stopped swinging only to slowly but steadily leak its contents onto the ground.

"Clearly," he drawled, twirling the daggers experimentally.

Hawke grinned at him and then launched herself in his direction, daggers already poised to strike. She was fast and used her greater height to an advantage, but Varric had experience on his side, rolling out of her way as she slid across the dusty yard.

"So," he said as he blocked an incoming strike, "what exactly did this nug-humper say that made you so mad?"

Hawke flipped backwards away from his blade, landing catlike on her toes and fingertips. "Well, when Papa left us at the table to 'talk as peers'..." she paused to lunge forward and swipe a dagger at Varric's midsection before continuing. "He watched to make sure no one was listening and then asked me a bunch of highly offensive questions about what it was like living with an apostate."

"Well, that's just rude." Varric frowned and batted Hawke's dagger away with practiced ease.

"Oh, that's not all." Hawke growled, circling Varric and twirling the dagger in her right hand. "When I, rightly, told him that his opinion was vile and unwelcome, he insinuated that as an apostate's child I was lucky anyone ever gave me the time of day, and that if I didn't agree to court him that I would die alone and miserable."

Varric froze, fury rising in his veins, and received a welt across his arm for his trouble. "That bastard," he ground out through suddenly clenched teeth. "Which spoiled rich whelp was that? I have a mind to go put fear of the Maker in his shriveled, ugly soul."

Hawke laughed delightedly, and the sound tugged at something in Varric's gut, something unnamed that he tended to shove down and forget about. But now it bubbled to the surface of his thoughts, bordered by the fury that someone would dare to say such things to his Hawke. Hawke who now leaned on her practice daggers for support as she wiped tears of laughter out of her eyes. Hawke who shone like a beacon in the dappled sunlight of that spring afternoon. Hawke who had never been more beautiful in Varric's eyes than when she suddenly grinned mischievously and knocked him flat on his back in the dust of the practice yard.

He gazed dazedly at the sky for a moment, stunned at the sudden overwhelming notion that maybe Hawke meant a bit more to him than originally thought. However, now was not the time or place to entertain those feelings, so when Hawke's worried face swam into view he grinned ruefully at her and took the accepted hand without a word.

"Andraste's tits, Varric, you should have seen that a mile away!"

"Sorry, I was planning that poor bastard's demise." Varric swallowed down all the other words suddenly springing to his tongue, instead settling for rolling back his shoulders and picking his dropped daggers back up. "You want to try that move again, Hawke? Bet you can't knock me on my ass twice."

When Hawke rolled her eyes and sprang towards him, wooden blades clacking loudly as she met his challenge, his heart beat a little harder in his chest and the only thing he could think was _Well... Shit._

 


	4. Writer's Block - 9:28 Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... and sometimes understanding comes in the form of your best friend's most excellent chest hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke - 21  
> Varric - 27
> 
> After publication of "The Viper's Nest" in 9:23 Dragon, Varric did not put out any more works for over a decade. Writer's block is a terrible curse and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Hawke wrinkled her nose as she stepped through the entranceway of the Hanged Man, skirting around a couple of drunk mercenaries making out in a corner and nodding at Corff as she leaned up against the bar. The smell always took a bit to get used to, years of Lowtown grime and spilled ale blending together to form a funk that was uniquely unpleasant. After a couple minutes of careful breathing, Hawke waved Corff over.

"Is he here?"

Corff scoffed and jerked a thumb towards the stairwell in the back. "When isn't he? Here," the man set two mugs of ale and a plate of bread and cheese on the bar. "He's paid for room and board for the next two months and hasn't been down to eat since yesterday."

Hawke smiled wanly. "He tends to do that, Corff. That's why I'm here."

"Right. Make sure he doesn't starve to death, I'm not too fond of trying to rent out rooms people think are haunted."

"Aren't all your rooms haunted already?" Hawke asked with a grin as the barkeep retreated back down the bar. He shot her an offended look but she smirked at him and swiped the food and ale off the counter, balancing them precariously with one arm as she made her way across the tavern. Corff had strict rules about fighting on the premises, but it still wasn't wise to occupy your fighting arm. With one hand free she could draw a knife in the time it took an attacker to so much as blink and still keep the ale from spilling.

Varric's door was closed when she reached the top of the stairs, but Hawke just rolled her eyes and delivered a sound kick to the base, the door crashing open before her. Sure, she could have pushed it open but where was the fun in that?

"Maker!" yelped Varric from his desk on the other side of the room, drawing a knife before he fully recognized the figure standing in his doorway. "Dammit, Hawke. I could have hurt you."

"Please," Hawke scoffed, crossing the room to set a mug and plate down by Varric's elbow. "You couldn't even hurt a fly right now."

Varric looked offended and opened his mouth to object, but the smell of food distracted him. His stomach growled loudly in the quiet room and he sighed heavily instead. "I forgot to eat again, didn't I?"

"Corff said last time he saw you downstairs was yesterday. So, yes, you forgot to eat again, Nug-brain." She bumped the plate closer to his elbow and he took the hint and started to eat.

Grinning, Hawke perched on the edge of her friend's desk, her own mug of ale clasped in her hands. In the quiet, she gazed around the familiar room. After publishing his third book, Varric had decided that living with his brother put too much strain on his creative endeavors and had relocated to the cozy hole-in-the-wall frequented by most of Lowtown. At least, that was his excuse. Hawke knew her friend well enough to know that at least some of his reasoning for his chosen dwelling had less to do with the lack of Bartrand and more to do with the Coterie.

She'd be very surprised if Varric wasn't involved with that particular guild. Ever since they had been children he had had one finger on the pulse of Kirkwall. More than once she had been witness to Varric advising Bartrand on some Merchants Guild dealing or other, only to see him play the part of "lazy ne'er-do-well" a few minutes later.

Hawke hummed in amusement at the memories and Varric eyed her suspiciously over the last of his lunch. "Something funny?"

"A bit." She took a sip of her ale and stared off into the room. "I was just thinking about how you seem to have everyone fooled." Varric raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged at him. "You're my best friend, I can't help but notice you play dumb most of the time."

He laughed, "Well, if it’s what people expect out of the lazy younger brother, why shouldn't I play along?"

"Fair point, but don't you get tired of people underestimating you?"

Varric smiled wanly. "Why do you think I'm writing, Hawke? It gives people something else to see, something other than a surface-born younger brother. If I make a name for myself, it will drag me out from Bartrand's shadow." His eyes suddenly twinkled with mischief. "And if people think I'm out of my brother's shadow, I can just sink further into it and protect the family business better than I already do."

Hawke snorted into her ale. "Rogue."

"You know you love me." The words hung heavy in the air for a moment, Hawke frozen in place on her desktop perch. Her heart hammered in her chest and her voice stuck in her throat. Surely Varric hadn't meant for his words to be spoken so softly and full of emotion?  Surely he only said what he did in jest?

"Sure, Varric, keep telling yourself that." Hawke meant to be gently teasing, responding in kind, but the words taste sour on her lips for some reason and she wished she could snatch them back when Varric stared at her with an unreadable expression. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Varric interrupted her.

"I need to get back to writing, Hawke. You can stay here if you'd like, but I might not be very good company." He shoved his empty plate out of his way and picked his pen back up out of his inkwell, turning back to his parchment with a sigh.

"Alright. At least let me get this out of your way." Hawke picked up her empty mug and the crumb-covered plate, sliding off the desk with a muted thump. She grumbled to herself as she clattered down the stairs to deposit the empty dishes on the bar and Corff raised an eyebrow at her.

"It's nothing," said Hawke in answer to his unspoken question. "I just said something dumb."

"Uh huh." Corff gave her a knowing look and refilled the two ale mugs, sliding them back in her direction. She turned to go back upstairs, but stopped as the barkeep called after her. "Bricet stopped by earlier today, said she might have an opening soon if you were interested."

"Thanks, Corff. I'll think about it." She lifted one of the mugs in a salute and climbed back to Varric's room, where her friend sat hunched over his desk again, the sound of his pen scratching loud in the otherwise silent room.

Hawke sighed and leaned into the door frame, watching her friend as he worked. Even as a small child she had enjoyed spending time with Varric while he spun tales onto empty parchment, the smell of ink and ale as familiar in her nose as her mother's perfume. Except she was no longer a child, she had alcohol and an excellent pair of eyes. And a truly impressive view of her best friend's chest hair.

She coughed into her ale as that thought flitted across her brain, her sputtering attracting the attention of Varric.

"You alright over there?" His eyes landed on her in a concerned gaze and Hawke wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor as the shells of her ears heated. She settled for burying her face in her mug to hide her blush.

"I'm fine." She said after a moment, satisfied that she had vanquished her traitorous face. She walked over and dropped back down on Varric's desk. "Tell me about your latest scribbles."

Varric's low chuckle haunted her thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Outline notes of note:  
> "She likes to perch on the edge of his desk while he writes, much as she did when she was a kid. Except now she has alcohol. And an excellent set of eyes. And a really good view of Varric’s chest hair. She buries her face in her mug and wills herself not to say anything."


	5. Something New - 9:29 Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it takes a major life change to bring two stubborn individuals together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke - 22  
> Varric - 28

Despite its seedy reputation, the atmosphere of The Hanged Man in the evenings always seemed welcoming to Hawke. She'd said goodnight to her new companions hours ago and now she and Varric sat in their favorite corner, drinking Corff's best ale and swapping tales that got more ridiculous with every pint.

"Ok," Hawke said, waving her hands wildly in the air. "So I had to pass a test to get into Bricet's band, right?"

"I remember you saying something to that effect a while back, yes." Varric's eyes twinkled over the top of his mug and Hawke wondered if she'd told this story before. Too tipsy to remember or even care, she launched into the story anyway.

It involved trained nugs, some pilfered qunari weaponry, and a baker’s dozen unfortunate bandits. It was completely unbelievable, but Varric loved the way Hawke spun the story anyway. Alive in her tale, she only paused to catch her breath and take a drink, and Varric watched the way her fingers caught the firelight. Old training scars shone like silver across her skin and even through the warm haze of ale Varric felt the sudden wash of protectiveness.

He reached forward and clasped Hawke's free hand in his own, breath hitching as her story drew to a close. She looked down at him with a confused smile and he drew back his hand with a cough.

"You were about to spill your ale," he lied through his teeth and Hawke's eyes narrowed.

"My mug's in my other hand, so grabbing this hand does absolutely nothing." She waved her empty hand in the air to illustrate her point, and ended up sloshing her ale a bit anyway.

"I..." Varric paused to clear his throat, suddenly tight. "Look..." he sighed and dropped his head to peer into his near-empty mug. "Damnit, Hawke. Come back in one piece, alright?" His voice caught and the world blurred a bit in front of his eyes.

"Oh, Varric," Hawke said, her voice fond. "It’s just a year. I'll be back before you know it."

He'd known this day was coming, the day Hawke would finally sign with one of the many mercenary bands based in Kirkwall. But he hadn't expected for the reality to hit him so hard. Aside from a few of his own trips to the other city-states of the free marches, he and Hawke had barely been apart for a few weeks since she had first toppled into him in the Lowtown markets. Now she would be gone for a full year, possibly longer, while he sat alone in Kirkwall. Sure, he could keep tabs on his friend through his network of informants, but that was nothing but empty words. If something went wrong he would not be able to spring to her aid at a moment's notice and that thought scared him above all others.

Not that he could put any of that into words. His tongue felt more lead than silver as he sat across from his best friend, watching her drain one last mug of ale and push her chair back from the familiar table. She steadied herself for a moment, huffing out a breath of laughter as she gripped the back of her chair.

"Come on, Varric," she said, a bright grin splitting her face. "At least see me to Hightown?" She offered him a hand up and he took it, trying not to concentrate on the warmth of her palm or the scrape of her well-earned callouses against his own. He was almost sad when he had to let go to grab his crossbow from where it stood ready against the wall.

Hawke watched as he slung it across his back, a comforting weight against the dark shadows of Kirkwall.

"Hey, you think by the time I get back you'll have that repeating bow you keep waxing poetic about?" she asked as they stepped out into the empty streets of the Lowtown markets.

Varric chuckled, "If Gerav ever gets back to me with a workable prototype. So far he's got five doorstops and one very impressive paperweight."

"That bad huh?" Hawke sounded amused and Varric peered up at her, her silhouette dark against the faint moonlight that filtered down into Lowtown.

 _Maker, when did she get so tall?_ wondered Varric, stopping abruptly in the middle of the street. Hawke walked a couple steps farther before she realized Varric no longer strolled beside her. She turned and looked quizzically at him, light from a nearby lantern flickering across her face, and Varric's heart lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

He's not going to see her again for a year and suddenly that seemed unbearable.

"Marian... come here for a second would ya?" His voice sounded horse in his own ears and he realized that this was the first time he'd ever used her given name. She cocked an eyebrow at him, but walked back down the street.

"I don't think I've ever heard you call me that, I could have sworn you thought my name was actually Hawke," she quipped as she stopped in front of him, grinning in a way that made Varric's gut clench.

Before he could second guess himself, he reached up and slid his palm against Hawke's cheek, stocky fingers threading through her hair. "Varric, what..." she started to say, but then Varric drew her down into a gentle kiss. He poured all of his worries and fears and things he could not bring himself to say into the kiss. Then he pushed himself away and scrubbed a hand across his eyes, suddenly pricking with tears.

"Please... be safe, Marian. For me." He said, voice cracking in the stillness.

The silence was deafening and Varric looked up, expecting to see anger written across his best friend's face. Instead, she looked shocked, frozen in the middle of that Lowtown street, fingers pressed against her mouth.

"You... you kissed me." Varric expected her words to be accusatory, but instead they leave her mouth in a tone of bewildered wonderment. Her eyes were wide as she looked down at Varric.

"Well, yes... it’s what you do when you love someone," said Varric, figuring that he might as well show his whole hand.

"I didn't think you saw me that way." The words were whispered, the tone astonished, and then Hawke's arms caught Varric in a crushing hug, her forehead pressed against his for a moment before her lips found his again.

Hawke kissed like she did everything else in life, by throwing her whole being into the action. She and Varric were breathing hard by the time they broke apart, both grinning like fools in the deserted streets of Lowtown.

Varric hated to do it, but he stopped Hawke from leaning in for another kiss, knowing full-well that many more kisses and she would never make it to the docks on time come morning.

"Go on now, Hawke," he said, and his voice was fond. "You'll miss your grand exit from Kirkwall if you keep hanging around little old me."

She scoffed, "You're anything but little or old, Varric. But if you're so eager to drive me away..."

She made a show of disentangling herself from his arms, and he caught her hand. "Only so you can come back to me."

Hawke laughed, "You're a romantic sap."

"You know you love me." This time when he says it, Hawke doesn't hesitate.

"Like the Ferelden love Mabari."

Varric snorted with laughter, releasing her hand and waving her away. "I expect letters, at the very least."

Hawke hummed in agreement and pressed another featherlight kiss against his lips. Then she is gone, a shadow fading into the dark streets.

It's the last he sees of her for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured since Hawke is _not_ a penniless refugee in this universe, she would have had more offers of employment. Bricet is the leader of a mostly reputable mercenary band that operates along the coastline of Thedas.
> 
> (So yes, Hawke still finds Aveline and brings her back to Kirkwall.)


	6. Beginning of Adventure - 9:31 Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, some things never change. Like your idiot brother launching an ill-advised jaunt into the deep roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke - 24  
> Varric - 30
> 
> And we have come full circle to the beginning of our familiar timeline, because some things exist in every universe.

Summer in Kirkwall has always been Varric's least favorite season. It’s either hot and humid, a fetid blanket hovering over all of Lowtown, or its pouring down rain, enough that the channels in the streets became small rivers and distant objects reduce to a smudge in the gray haze.

So it was a surprise to Varric when he woke up to find a cool breeze blowing off the sea, making the day mildly bearable. The pleasant weather seemed to be a good portent and he started his day with a spring in his step.

His good mood did not last long. He spent the morning going over expedition plans with his brother, finalizing a last few lists of supplies.

"I don't know how you think our team is gonna eat this much food, Bartrand" he said, frowning down at the parchment held in his hand. "This is enough to feed twice as many as our current employ."

Bartrand shrugged, "I was hoping maybe a few more would come on board. We have plenty of miners and dwarva that still have their stone-sense. What we need is protection, since we'll be down in the deep roads."

"You haven't hired guards yet?" Varric ground out, suddenly irritable. His brother was smart, but he thought like a merchant and not a mercenary.

"I thought I'd have you do it, since you have better connections with that... breed." Varric tried not to gape at his brother's words. Did he not understand the importance of having _loyal_ guards?

"Andraste's alabaster arse, Bartrand. You should have told me before now." He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "We're leaving in two months. That's barely enough time for me to put together a team that even I trust and I've got low standards."

Bartrand leveled him with a disdainful gaze. "Just find me some guards that won't rob us blind and call it a day, Varric."

"Fine." Varric huffed out an irritated breath. “I’ll go do that now."

He grumbled under his breath all the way to Lowtown, pausing only by the postmaster to see if any letters had shown up over the morning. A couple rejection letters from publishing houses and an advertisement for some new horrifying apothecary concoction filled his postbox, but nothing new from Hawke. Varric told himself not to worry, Hawke was rarely consistent with her letter writing and the letters she did send him left much to be desired. Calling her handwriting a "childish scrawl" was an insult to children everywhere, truly.

Varric chuckled as he remembered how Hawke's governess had simply given up on attempting to teach her any sort of refined penmanship, settling instead for proper spelling and grammar. Not that that had taken either.

He started skimming through the more depressing of the rejection letters as he made his way towards the Hanged Man, getting that unpleasantness out of the way so he could start in on finding guards immediately. He was so engrossed in his reading that he didn't notice the figure standing in front of the tavern notice boards until he ran into them headlong, sending the two of them sprawling across the pavement.

Varric hauled himself upright, collecting his scattered mail. "And my day just keeps getting better" he muttered under his breath.

"I should hope so," said an all-to-familiar voice with a laugh, and Varric looked up to see Hawke picking herself up off the pavement with a wide grin.

"Maker's breath," he swore, almost reverently. He dropped his mail again, just in time for Hawke to swoop forward and envelop him in a crushing hug. She smelled faintly of blood and leather and hard wear on the road, but Varric found he didn't mind because it was so uniquely Hawke. His fingers found the front of her armor and he hauled her down to his level, pressing a bruising kiss against her laughing lips.

"Dunno if you want to be doing that, Varric. I just got in from the docks." She leaned her forehead against his with a breathless giggle.

"Don't care, Hawke. You're home." Varric leaned up and kissed her again, softer this time. She kissed him back, and then pushed away.

"I'm serious, I desperately need a bath. I've got other people's blood, sea grime, and who knows what else caked onto my skin."

"Ah, well..." Varric rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. "I badgered Corff into letting me keep a tub in my room, if you wanted to borrow it."

Hawke looked delighted at the prospect, then her eyes twinkled with mischief. "If I borrow it, does it come with my own personal storyteller?"

Varric swallowed hard. "It could."

"Good," Hawke smiled smugly. "I need to know everything that's been going on. All the latest gossip."

"Oh." Varric's face fell. He didn't realize Hawke was being literal.

Hawke saw his expression change from cautious delight to masked disappointment in a matter of seconds and mentally kicked herself. Of course he would take her at her word. But she hadn't spent nights of painful letter-writing carefully building their more-than-friendship to back out now. She considered her options and then started for the door of the tavern, calling over her shoulder, "Of course, I expect you to tell me all this while helping me with my hair."

Varric's eyes widened and he scooped his mail back off the ground and bolted for the door. As he held it open so she could pass ahead of him, an idea crossed his mind.

"So, my brother's come up with this mad expedition into the deep roads. Interested?"

"Always, Varric."

"Flattery will get you anywhere, love."

"I learned from the best."

Varric grinned up at Hawke and she grinned back before the two of them burst into laughter, leaning on each other for support. Around them the sounds of the tavern rose in their familiar ebb and flow.

It was good to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! I hope you enjoyed this fic, I certainly enjoyed writing it.
> 
> If you enjoyed it I encourage you to check out all the other Hightown Funk submissions, its such a fun exchange.


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